


The Final Games

by aconsultinghuntress26



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Altered Mental States, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Lemon, Lime, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aconsultinghuntress26/pseuds/aconsultinghuntress26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the Final Hunger Games as seen through the eyes of former President Snow's granddaughter. (Book canon where age is unknown).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> I started this on fanfiction.net, but realized that some parts were becoming a bit too much even there, so I'm moving it here. Rated E for language, graphic violence, and light smut in later chapters w/warnings at the start of each. A later chapter will contain some extreme non-con which is why the entire work has that tag. I will notify when that occurs at the start of the chapter though.  
> This is the shortest chapter, so I'm sorry if it is crap.

** Prologue- The Final Games **

I sit in the room waiting for the announcement that the entire country of Panem has been eagerly anticipating. President Paylor takes the stage and stands at the podium as the cheers die down. Once the crowd of Capitol residents and scattered District residents calms down she begins to speak.

“I know that there are many speculations as to what my decision is in regardsto the Victor vote of a Final Hunger Games,” the crowd is so silent I could hear a pin drop, “I have decided to uphold the vote. A final Game shall be held.” My moment of confusion seemed to last forever. I could not believe what I just heard _. ‘Why did she agree? Surely this is all just a nightmare, the Victors can’t do this! Do they know that the reaping pool will be filled with innocents; well…most of them were anyway’_ , my mind tried to comprehend. After a few seconds of holding up her hands, Paylor begins to speak again and I listen intently making sure I didn’t hear wrong.

“There are few things that I have insisted on changing in regards to the rules. There will be no random reaping of children. Instead the war tribunal will hand select the various young relatives of guilty criminals, and even a few that have been found guilty themselves.” At this the crowd on the screen cheered loudly and I felt the color drain from my face. _‘Fuck’_ , I both sighed in relief and cursed as my fate was sealed.

“The names will be read in one months’ time. Immediately after which the tributes will be allowed to ask any of the surviving Victors to be their mentor. All surviving Victors will be required to become a mentor, whether they voted for or against these games. Those Victors that were in favor shall have the added punishment of mentoring two tributes, since they especially wished to see these young people die,” a few protests were heard amongst the crowd, “These Games will represent the closing of an oppressed time in Panem’s history, but will also serve as a final reminder to all that the Tributes-both past and present-have been unjustly punished for acts committed long ago.”

A mixture of various responses erupted at this final statement, from scattered applause to cheers to protests and wails of injustice. Obviously not many shared her sentiments about the roles the remaining Victor’s played or how this Game should be viewed. However, before I hear another word I rush to the adjoining bathroom to my “cell”. I can feel the bile rising from the pit of my stomach and shortly I taste an acidic version of my awful breakfast. I know that there is no hope for me. I will be in these Final Games. I can only hope that I can prove to the entire country that I am just as much a victim as they. I need to get my story out there. I want all of Panem to know that not even the most prestigeious of persons in the Capitol were able to get away from the coils of my grandfather, President Snow.

 


	2. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aine Snow, the granddaughter of Panam's former President, seeks out the Victors of District 12 to help her survive the Final Games. Will she be able to convince one of them to be her mentor, or will her name be a deterrent for their willing assistance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is so late. I had so many other ideas for my Snk/AoT fics in my head that I just couldn't concentrate on revising this. Aine is pronounced Awn-yah or On-ya and is Irish in origin. I don't own of the the Hunger Games character's, but I do own my OC's that will be showing up and the personality of Aine.

** Chapter 1-The Arrival **

I stare at the ceiling of what is now my prison cell, twirling my blonde hair around my index finger. The ankle bracelet tracker beeps steadily filling the room with some sound other than my breathing. My days have been long and uneventful since my trial. Once the rebels took over the Capitol I knew my life would turn upside down. I knew my grandfather would be killed and I would be too. I just didn’t expect to be sitting around waiting to go into a final arena for the entertainment and twisted sense of justice that others graved. During my trial I had no chance to defend myself and those that were questioned claimed I was eagerly following in my grandfather’s footsteps. They didn’t know the exact frequency to which I was forced by gun point, manipulated, or-in some extreme cases-the occasional injection of Trackerjacker venom, to accomplish my tasks. I had been made to live my teenage years in fear by a man that was supposed to my care giver. After being used and abused I hated him and everyone that followed. Now I was being thrown to the dogs, just because I legally shared a last name with a cruel tyrant. No seconds thoughts.

“Are you ready Ms. Snow?” a man asks. I hate that name. I didn’t even hear the guard enter my former bedroom. I sit up and grab the small duffle bag he hands to me.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” I say, making my way down the hall and to the hovercraft platform. There were only a few still left operational enough for the rebels to use. I buckle the straps as the hovercraft lifts into the air. Within a few minutes I close my eyes and think of what it is I’m going to say to try and convince the Victors of District 12 to help me. It would be nothing short of a miracle to get any one of them as they’ve each experienced so many traumas at the hands of my grandfather…and my hands as well. In a few hours we land in what is still the rubble levtover from the bombing nearly seven months ago. I’m lowered by the ladder and feel my body relax once the force that kept me frozen in place releases.

“You have one month Ms. Snow,” one of Paylor’s personal guards shouts from the hovercraft. I look over to the two large women with guns that have been sent along with me. I roll my eyes and start to walk in the direction of the only structure within a mile.

_‘Here goes nothing_ , I say to myself and take off. The two women are desperately trying to keep up with my long strides. I’m not very tall, but I have learned to walk with a purpose quickly, so that I could get away from my grandfather without raising too much suspicion.

            As I walk over to the white cookie cutter houses I can’t help but feel a half smile spread on my lips. ‘ _Why are you smiling Aine’_ , I reprimand myself, _‘you’re just here to ask for help; nothing more than that._ ’. Staying alive should be my only goal as the need to show my innocence to all of Panem has been overwhelming since the trials began. But I can’t help the slight warm and comfortable feeling the sight of the houses brings me, and what I know is waiting inside.

“Hi there,” I hear a young man’s voice before I see him, “What brings you to District 12?” He sounds a little cautious as he brings his sight up from the small garden patch he was immersed in. I look directly into his blue eyes and immediately recognize him as Peeta Mellark. My mind starts to swim with unpleasant memories.

“I’m here to see… Haymitch Abernathy,” I say hesitantly. Even though I was originally leaning toward asking Katniss Everdeen to help me, I say his name first my subconscious taking over. There is no way in hell that she would want to mentor me, unless she was blissfully unaware of the events of my trial. Peeta just looks at me quizzically, seeing the two women finally catch up and one grab my arm forcefully.

“God damn, watch it will you,” I shout. He starts looking me over, lowering his head and snaps it right back up once he caught sight of my ankle bracelet.

“You must be Snow’s granddaughter then right?” he asks, “We were told that you might show up.” With that he turned around and gestured for me to follow. I pull my arm out of the tight hold and rub my bicep as I follow.

“He’s in there,” Peeta points to the middle of three lit up houses. I make my way to the porch and knock on the door. No answer.

“Just go right on in, he’s probably passed out,” Peeta meets me at the door and opens it walking past me. His body made sure to give mine a wide berth. _‘I wonder if he remembers.’_ I mused. I look around trying to find the source of the pungent smell that creeps into my nostrils. Peeta continues into the house, calling out to Haymitch in case he may be awake.

“What do you want?” I hear a grumble from the kitchen located in the back of the house.

“She’s here and she wants to talk to you,” I then hear a door shut and Peeta is gone. Making my way into the kitchen I find one of the men that had sealed my fate.

“Haymitch… Abernathy?” I know that it’s him, but ask anyway, my breath catching in my throat.

“I repeat. What do you want?” he squints at me. I set my bag down and take a seat in front of him. I had acquired the bad habit of making every home in Panem my home, something that my grandfather taught me.

“I’m sure you know what it is I’ve come to ask Haymitch,” I stare right back at him, locking my steel grey eyes with his, “I want a mentor.” My voice is flat and I’m trying my best to keep on a neutral mask, but I feel that my eyes are betraying me. Of course I’m scared to death of going into this arena, and yet I’m excited to be where I am at this very moment. After a few minutes of silence, Haymitch starts to laugh.

“Out of all the other Victors you want my help?” he shakes his head, “Sweetheart, there is nothing-” I hold up a single bottle and he shuts up immediately.

“You were saying?” I pass the bottle over to him, “How we shall start correct? As I’m sure you know, those that have been picked as tributes have been allowed to take advantage of training before the Reaping. My guess is that the bloodbath would just be pathetic in the eyes of the Districts if we didn’t have some tributes that were just as capable of a good show as the Careers used to be.” Haymitch opened the bottle and took a big swig of the clear liquid.

“Hold your horses there girly-“

“My name is Aine and I’m 25 years old, older than both of your previous Victors, so don’t call me girly,” I correct him. _‘Calm your emotions, dear, don’t be so vulnerable,’_ I hear my grandfather’s voice in my head and I cringe.

“Well excuse me…Aine,” he mocks. We stare at one another, until finally a light cough brings me back to the task at hand. The Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay herself, is standing right behind Haymitch, her fist full from holding two dead rabbits.

“Katniss Everdeen,” I nod in her direction with a light smile playing at my lips. Again a falsity taught by an evil man. I watched her fight back the shutter from what must have been a creepy and familiar gesture. The feeling of having that reaction over her triggered my anxiety, as I didn’t want to remind them of who I was, but at the same time the power felt familiar.

“Here Haymitch,” she places the rabbits in front of him on the table, but her eyes never left mine and again I am greeted with similar colored orbs to my own.

“Are you two related,” I blurt out, not thinking. The two give a quick exchange and Haymitch bursts into laughter. My cheeks turn a slight shade of pink at my own stupid question. ‘ _Of course they aren’t related, why were you hoping that?’_ I just blame my raising anxiety on my lapse.

“No, we’re just both from the Seam, an area that used to be a part of the District,” Haymitch finally answered as Katniss tentatively took a seat at the table to my left.

“You’ve come for advice haven’t you?” she asks. I’m finally able to detect the hint of loathing in her stare.

“Yes, and I have a few skills that may be useful, but I still need a mentor if I’m to stay alive,” the two Victors gave me a questioning glance before exchanging another look. I was sure the three of them must have their own language by now, especially since they’ve been through so much together.

“You look older than most tributes,” she finally tells me, “Are you one of the tributes that were found guilty of your own crimes?” Her question catches me off guard. _‘She has no clue what I’ve done. That or she’s just trying to rub this well-known information in like salt into an open wound.’_

“I’m 25,” the scrutiny of her gaze causes the anxiety to rise even more in my chest.

“What exactly do you expect us to be able to do for you?” Haymitch takes another swig of the liquor I gave him.

“Obviously help me stay alive,” I say, “At least long enough for me to prove that overall I’m just as innocent-.”

“Innocent my ass,” Haymitch scoffed to himself and rolled his eyes. I stare at him and look back to Katniss. It was clear that neither of them believed me. ‘ _Why would they? Look whose name I share and all the half-truths about me brought to light.’_

“Fine, but I am a victim at the least. The circumstances behind my crimes were not properly brought to light by the War Tribunal and I will prove it to you if I must, but right now I need to know if you- either of you- will be a mentor for me,” The silence fills the room and, yet again, my ankle bracelet becomes the only noise.

“Look I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me here, but I am desperate. I have one month,” I finally choke out. I’m sure my heartbeat is betraying me with how loud it has become in my constricted chest and the small silent room.  

“I’ll consider it,” Haymitch finally says. I feel my breath finally relax out of my body, “But on one condition. You get me more of this.” He holds up the alcohol.

“What can you do?” Katniss now asks, ignoring him altogether, “You mentioned that you had skills? What do you mean?” I wasn’t sure if her question was spurred from concern or genuine curiosity.

“Nothing much really now that I think about it. While he taught me skills of manipulation, I learned a few things without my grandfather’s permission or knowledge,” I explain, “I was able to convince some of the Peacekeepers that worked in the mansion to teach me some very basic combat moves. Ironic actually.”

“Go back to your beautiful cell, sweetheart,” Haymitch stood up and headed out to the living room,” It sounds like you’re going to be just fine.” I get up from my spot and follow him, Katniss trailing behind. Likely she didn’t trust me enough to follow Haymitch while his back was turned.

“Please,” I cry, “You have to mentor two tributes anyway.” He keeps walking up the staircase and my anxiety keeps building with each step. I didn’t expect my emotions to be this difficult for me and resisted the urge to scream at him. However my next sentence still slips past my lips.

“I have information that you might want to know,” This gets his attention as he turns toward me, bottle still in hand.

“What on earth could you know that would be of **any** interest to me?” he eyes me suspiciously.

“Ensure I live long enough and I’ll tell you.” I counter and there’s no hesitation in my voice. The seconds linger between and the tension in the air is thick.

“You’re bluffing.” He turns back away and continues up the stairs. I look back toward Katniss, but she’s looking me straight in the eye with an expressionless face.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll try to help prepare you, but I’m _not_ going to be your mentor.” With that she followed Haymitch upstairs. After making my way to main living area I heard knocking, muffled dialogue, and few shouts ring above me. About 20 minutes later Katniss maked her way back down.

“There is a guest bedroom at the end of the hall on the upper floor where you can stay. You’re guards can stay down here in the living room.” She tells me, “You and I will start some of that additional training in the morning.”

I don’t know what it was that made Katniss agree to help, but I’m extremely grateful that she did. I head up the stairs and hear a faint snoring come from behind what must be Haymitch’s room. I have very little with me so I don’t bother to unpack. I strip down to my underclothes and slip into the bed. I lay for a few hours before finally drifting off to sleep.


End file.
